


Serenity

by HakeberHooligan



Series: Department of Mysteries Monthly Prompts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Draco turns out to be a decent human being, Felix Felicis, Gen, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakeberHooligan/pseuds/HakeberHooligan
Summary: Draco is nervous about having to give a speech at a ceremony that marks the one-year anniversary of the battle at Hogwarts. Why McGonagall even asked him to speak, he doesn't know. He needs something - anything - to take the edge off. What he finds is Felix Felicis.





	Serenity

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! This is the March prompt for the Department of Mysteries Facebook group (Write a story surrounding Liquid Luck (Felix Felicis). What happens when your character takes it?). Enjoy!

     Draco takes a deep breath and puts the vial to his lips, throwing his head back and swallowing the contents in one gulp. He can feel the potion settle in his belly, and with it, a warm sensation not unlike drinking whiskey spreads through his body. Suddenly, the day doesn’t seem like it will be all that bad after all.

     He looks down at the outfit he’s chosen. A dark green robe with black trim, and the Slytherin crest on the right side of the chest. Underneath, he’s wearing a white button-down and his black and green striped Slytherin tie.

_      No, these simply won’t do. _

     He goes back to his closet, and chooses a pastel green robe instead. He also grabs a pair of tan slacks, switching out of his black ones. He removes the tie all together. He’s about to button up the robe, when he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. You know what? He thinks leaving it unbuttoned will look much better. As a final touch, he cards his fingers through his hair, giving it a tidy yet windswept look. It’s much more casual than his usual appearance, but it just feels  _ right. _

     He can tell that the effects of  _ Felix Felicis  _ are in full swing. He’s starting to feel light-headed and dreamy, so he grabs the second vial that sits on his desk, and swallows it. The clarity potion won’t make the luck potion ineffective, but he’ll be able to think clearly while it guides him. 

     It’s the one-year anniversary of the battle at Hogwarts, and he’s been asked to deliver a speech about unity between all wizards. Or something like that. He had stared dumbfounded at McGonagall when she had come to his home to ask him if he would speak today. He hardly felt like he deserved to speak, let alone be there to begin with. His father had leapt on the chance though, telling McGonagall that of course  he would accept. After she left, he told Draco he would read a speech that Lucius himself would write, word for word.

     Draco glances at the notecards on his desk and sneers at them. 

     They talk about making wrong decisions in life based on your circumstances, about overcoming your upbringing, and understanding that your past acts are not who you are today. It’s one big orchestrated publicity stunt, and he wants none of it. He grabs the notecards and rips them in half, and then again, before tossing them into his wastebin. Father will be furious, and the thought makes him smile smugly. 

     He still doesn’t understand why he was asked to speak at the remembrance service. He acted cowardly, fought against his classmates, and followed the worst wizard to live since Grindelwald. He could claim that he was just following his father’s orders, but the truth was that he had been terrified to defect. He could have easily ran away and fought against Voldemort, but it was easier to fall into line with him.

     He regrets his actions, and the past two years still deeply haunt him. But that doesn’t change the fact that he  _ did  _ it. 

     And so after weeks of fretting about today, he had run to Knockturn Alley the night before. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he needed something -  _ anything _ \- that would diminish this feeling of barely-constrained terror that he was feeling about going to the ceremony. He happened upon a man dressed in all black, with his face shrouded. 

 

_      “Looking for something, young lad?” He rasped with a voice that sounded like it had visited a pipe far too often.  _

_      “Not from you,” Draco had replied dismissively, shoving past the man with his shoulder.  _

_      “Surely, you’d like a look, at least?” The man continued, unphased. Draco turned to tell him off once more, but paused when the man opened his robe, displaying a number of potions in small vials, tucked into small pockets.  _

_      His eye caught on the smallest vial, which housed a golden potion. He immediately knew it for what it was.  _

_      “How much, for  _ Felix Felicis?”  _ He asked in a hushed tone, stepping closer.  _

_      “Ah, the liquid luck potion. A hard one to move, that one. Highly regulated. Could get me into a lot of trouble, letting that one go,” the man dragged on, and Draco quickly lost his patience.  _

_      “I don’t need a potions lesson! Give me a price!” _

_      “Three thousand Galleons.” Came the smug reply.  _

_      Draco swore under his breath, paced several times, and then rounded on the man.  _

_      “It’s not the blood of Jesus, it’s a concoction that any potion master worth their salt can produce. Two thousand galleons, and I’ll get it from the bank right now.” He counters, and hoped that the man didn’t hear the desperation that creeped into his voice.  _

_      The man took his time to consider. Finally, he said, “Deal,” And Draco took off for the bank after telling him to wait there. He’s jittery the whole trip to Gringott’s, and hoped to whatever god has the ill sense to listen that his father wouldn’t notice two thousand galleons missing from his trust fund. He’s half-convinced that the man would be gone by the time he came back. He’s mildly surprised and extremely relieved to find that’s not the case when he returned fifteen minutes later with a coin purse, enchanted with an extension charm.  _

_      He hesitated before passing the bag to the man. _

_      “If you are even  _ thinking _ about fooling me, my father will be hearing about it.” _

_      The man pulled the bag free from his grasp, and handed him two vials.  _

_      “I know better than to get on a Malfoy’s bad side,” He said smoothly, and Draco inhaled sharply. “Not to worry, young Draco, this transaction stays between the two of us.” _

_      Draco tried to ignore the prickle of goosebumps that spread across his skin, and instead asked, “What is this second one?” _

_      “Clarity potion, to counter the… more lofty effects of  _ Felix. _ It won’t affect the outcome, though. That, I guarantee you.” _

_      Draco looked at the two vials in his hand.  _

_      “Well, I guess we’re done-” he lifted his head to look at the man, but he’s vanished without a sound. “... here.” _

 

     It would appear that the strange merchant was true to his word.

     He closes his eyes thinks about the night in the astronomy tower, when he couldn’t bring himself to kill Dumbledore. That was the moment he should he turned his wand on the death eaters behind him. But he had been scared. Convinced himself that he was doing what needed to be done to ensure his survival, no matter who he had to kill along the way. And then Snape had stepped in front of him, and delivered the killing curse himself.

     He feels tears start to well up in his eyes, and furiously grinds the heels of his palms into them. No, crying just won’t do today, he decides. Today, he sets things right. 

     “Draco, don’t forget your notes!” His father yells from down the hall. 

     “In my robe pockets, Father,” he replies with an eye roll. He needs to leave before his father sees the change in wardrobe. “I’m apparating now, I’ll see you at the ceremony!”

     Without waiting for an answer, he twists around on the spot, picturing the field beside the lake at the school. He feels compressed for a second, and then his shoes are sinking into soft grass, and his robe is fluttering around him in the cool, afternoon breeze.

     The ceremony isn’t set to take place for another half an hour, but there’s already a fair amount of witches and wizards milling around. He gets some undisguised looks of disgust, and all he can do is smile politely back. He feels that taking anything negative with a grain of salt is the way to go. He trusts the instinct, and doesn’t fight it.

     He walks over to where Dumbledore's tomb sits, and stands in silence, paying his respects. Even when facing the wrong end of Draco’s wand, he hadn’t lifted a finger against him.

     “Draco,” a familiar voice acknowledges. He turns to his left, and there’s Potter in his own dress clothes, albeit muggle ones. He’s not facing Draco, instead looking at Dumbledore’s tomb. Draco can see the deep circles under his eyes, and he looks like he’s lost some weight. Potter reaches out a hand to press it against the cool stone, and then lowers it to his side. Finally, he turns to Draco. 

     “The light green, it looks really good on you.”

     Of all the things he expected Potter to say, this wasn’t one of them. Draco hasn’t seen him since the battle, except in passing. They haven’t spoken, and he had worried that Potter would have some choice words for him. The civility he’s paid is a stark contrast. 

     “Um… thanks. Last-minute change of wardrobe.” He smirks. “Father is going to have a fit when he sees.” 

     A small smile plays on Potter’s face, and Draco can’t help but to mirror it. 

     “Harry!” He hears Ron call from back where the seating is set up. Draco looks over, and sees the barely-contained hatred on Ron’s face. Honestly, he doesn’t blame him. Draco had been terrible to him, even in their earlier years. 

     “Better be going,” Potter says, and he almost sounds… apologetic?

     Draco is speaking before he even realizes, and words are tumbling from his mouth, unbidden. 

     “If you fancy a drink after all this, I’ll be at Rosemerda’s,” He offers.  _ What the hell?  _ He chalks it up to  _ Felix  _ working its magic. But what could a pint with Potter do to make his day any easier?

     Potter gives him an appraising look.

     “Yeah, maybe. I’ll see.” Is all he says, and then he’s walking over to Ron, who’s openly shooting Draco daggers with his eyes. Draco gives him the most genuine smile he can muster. Ron only looks angrier. 

     Draco meanders the crowd, saying pleasantries to folks, some who he knows, others who he doesn’t. He tries to think as little as possible, and lets  _ Felix  _ guide him. 

     Before long the event is about to begin, and he takes his seat on the stage that’s been constructed, next to Hermione. 

     “Draco,” she says cordially, but there’s an edge of iciness in her tone. 

     “Hermione,” he replies with a nod. Once again, his mouth is moving of its own accord. “You look dashing today.” She turns to fully face him now, with a suspicious frown on her face. “No, really,” He says with a smile. “The purple robes- they compliment you.”

     He sees a slight blush stain he cheeks. 

     “Um… thank you, Draco,” she says a little less stiffly. 

     Then he sees his father sitting down in the front row. He has a look of disdain on his face, probable because of Draco’s change of outfit. He looks back coolly at his father, even going as far as to lift his chin in defiance. He personally doesn’t think it’s the best move, but a little voice in his head tells him that it’s what the day needed. 

_      Don’t screw me over,  _ Felix.

     Everyone is seated, and the ceremony starts. Mcgonagall speaks first, and she talks about where the wizarding world was one year ago, in contrast to now. She talks of progress, of standing together, and of overcoming intolerance. 

     After her, there’s a slew of speakers. Some speak about what they went through, others speak of people they lost. All too soon, it’s Draco’s turn. He feels like he  _ should  _ be nervous, but he isn’t.

     He stands at the podium, and sees his father watching him expectantly. He mouths,  _ notecards.  _ Draco ignores him.

     He starts by unbuttoning his sleeve and  showing the crowd his dark mark. There are gasps, and his father looks furious. The cameras in front of the podium snap and flash and blind him.

     He then goes on to talk about his short time as a death eater. The things he had done, the people he had hurt, and the actions he can’t take back. He talks about fixing the vanishing cabinet, and how every step of the way, he questioned if it was the right thing to do. But he never stopped. He did it anyways, because he was a selfish coward. There were no other word to describe his behavior. 

     As a child, the thought of being a Death Eater thrilled him. The thought of killing thrilled him. The thought of serving Voldemort thrilled him. All of that changed the night on the astronomy tower. 

     He’s never talked about the astronomy tower. When they reported back to Voldemort, Snape had been the one to fill him in. Draco finds every detail spilling from his lips now. He says he was terrified of failing, but equally terrified of succeeding. Here was the glory he had anticipated all his life, yet he found it sorely lacking. 

     The crowd is silent. 

     He talks about the subsequent nightmares that followed. The insanity that he felt trickling into his very soul. He felt like he was losing himself. 

     He talks about locking himself into the farthest room in the house, away from prying ears, and crying for hours. 

     He talks about holding a knife to his wrists, but being too afraid to press down and pull. 

     His father stands up then, red-faced. He marches down the main isle and apparates with a loud, angry snap. The crowd stares.

     Draco clears his throat.

     “I tell you this not to garner sympathy; I feel like I deserve none. I was a coward, in all sense of the word. I could have turned on Voldemort at any time, and seeked protection from The Order. But I didn’t. I blindly followed orders to preserve myself. I am single handedly responsible for the battle that took place here one year ago, and those deaths rest on my shoulders.

     Would he have found another way if I had refused? Probably. But we’ll never know. I’m here today to express how deeply sorry I am for what happened on that terrible night. It’s never far from my mind, and I’ll spend the rest of my life working on tipping the deeply unbalanced scales of my fate. I fear I may never come close.” 

     With that, he turns to sit. He catches sight of Potter’s face, whose mouth is agape. Once he reaches his seat and sits, the media frenzy starts. They try to rush the stage, and are stopped by the furious glare McGonagall throws their way. She takes the podium again. 

     “Let’s not forget that this is a ceremony to reflect and to mourn. We will not turn it into a media circus.” She says sternly. They settle down, and once she’s satisfied, she introduces Potter as the last speaker. 

     Potter still looks a little stunned as he takes the podium, and gives Draco one last, confused look before starting his speech. 

     Draco listens, enraptured. Potter talks of things that he never knew the other teen had to suffer through. He divulges secrets of past years, and hopes he has for the future. 

     He then admits that he hadn’t planned say this much, but Draco’s admissions had given him the courage to. And that maybe finally telling his story is what he needs to do to move on. 

     Draco listens, completely stunned. He… he had  _ inspired  _ Potter to do this? It sounds like something so foreign. And yet, Potter is turning to him and smiling, before turning back to the crowd and telling them that they could all stand to learn from what Draco has done today. 

     As a wrap-up to the ceremony, McGonagall reads a list of names, all of the lives lost during the battle. When she reaches Crabbe’s name, Draco feels a pang in his heart. He grits his teeth and fights back the tears that well up in his eyes. 

     Hermione is crying softly beside him, and he feels like the best thing to do would be to reach out and grab her hand. So he does. She startles and whips her head towards him, but does nothing more than give him a tearful smile. Ron, who’s sitting on her opposite side holding her other hand, shoots him a murderous look. 

     After the list is finished, he gives her hand one more squeeze before letting go and reaching for his wand. Everyone lifts their own wands skyward and shout ‘ _ Periculum!’  _ as one, sending jets of red sparks high into the sky, as a final goodbye to the dead. 

     It’s silent except for the pop-snap sounds of the spell, and then as the last sparks die out, they remain silent for another minute. Then, it’s a media frenzy. Draco sneers at the photographers and journalists. How can they be so callous? It’s a memorial, for heaven sake. He stands up to make a quick departure.

     He feels like escaping behind the stage is the wisest move, and slips behind the curtain. That’s when he feels a hand grip his. He spins in surprise, to find Potter.

     “Fancy that drink now?” Potter asks. His voice is raw, and he looks haunted. Draco nods. “I know a place, away from prying ears. Side-along?” 

     Draco nods again. 

     Potter twists on the spot as the media spills around the stage, rushing them. Draco is pulled with him, and feels that familiar compression before they’re popping back into existence, on the doorstep of an old condo. He looks around, surprised to see muggles walking about on the sidewalk, completely unperturbed by their sudden appearance. 

     “Cloaking charm?” Draco asks with a raised brow. Potter just hums as he lets go if his hand, and Draco takes it as a yes. He follows Potter down the steps, and onto the busy sidewalk. 

     “It’s a muggle pub, hope you don’t mind.” Potter says, turning his head to look at Draco. “Figured the journalists won't find us there.”

     “No arguments here,” Draco mutters, looking at the passing muggles with bland interest as much as they look at him thinly-veiled curiosity. 

     It’s not long before they reach the pub, and with the time of day, it’s mostly empty. They sit at a far table.

     “Just a butterbeer for me,” Draco says to the bartender when she comes over to take their order. 

     “Beer! Two beers, he means.” Potter says quickly. “Your choice.” Draco quirks an eyebrow at him, but is otherwise silent. 

     After the bartender leaves the table, Potter gives a humorless chuckle. 

     “Butterbeer is a Wizard thing. Muggles don’t have it.”

     “Well that’s a sorry shame,” Draco says. That gets a more genuine chuckle out of Potter.

     Then it’s awkward silence until the beers come. Draco picks at the label, feeling less and less confident. The potion must be wearing off. Looks like  _ Felix  _ set the stage, and then left him high and dry. Why on  _ earth  _ had he asked Potter to drinks? 

     “So what you said, for your speech…” Potter asks slowly, “did you mean it?”

     Draco mills over the question, taking a large swig of - frankly disgusting - muggle beer to give him more time. Yes, he surprisingly decides, he did mean it. 

     “Of course. Had I some courage, the war may have ended very differently.” He frowns, and steels himself. “I’m sorry, Potter. Truly. You lost far more than I did, and I don’t deserve everything I still have. I was rotten to you in school, and you had every right to leave me to the fiendfyre last year. But you didn’t. It… it made me question many of my choices in the weeks after the battle. I guess I just wanted you to know that.”

     He chances a glance at Potter, and sees him smiling. It’s a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

     “Draco, I really appreciate you stepping up and owning what you did. I’ve been trying to let go of the past, and I have to admit, this has helped tremendously. I want you to know, I hold no ill will towards you.”

     The admission surprises Draco. Potter has all the reason in the world to detest him, and yet here he is, granting him lenience.

     “You’re wrong, you know,” Draco says, and Potter’s eyebrows shoot up. “You said that everyone could learn from what I said today. But I think you’re the better example. For people like me, at least. I think I’ll take a page out of your book.”

     They finish their beers and chat idly for the next hour. It’s strangely easy, Draco finds. Potter as a person is someone he could be friends with. They share many interests, and now that Draco’s head has been dislodged from his ass, he can see that. 

     But he’s drawn this out long enough, and Draco knows it’s time to go home, to face his father. 

     “Good luck with that,” Potter says genuinely. They stand up, and head back to the doorsteps. Once they arrive, Potter turns to Draco and sticks a hand out.

     “Friends?”

     Draco chuckles.

     “If we start calling each other friends, Potter, my father will surely hear about this.”

     Potter laugh, and Draco grabs his hand, giving it a firm shake.

 

     The second he apparates to the mansion, his father descends on him. 

     “What the hell was that, Draco?!” He all but yells. 

     Draco lifts his chin in defiance.

     “The courage to change, father. I quite think it looks good on me, too.”

     He walks away, leaving his father sputtering and furious. For the first time in over two years, life doesn’t seem so bleak. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little playlist for the fic : )
> 
> Hotel California- Eagles  
> What now- Rihanna  
> Hurt- Johnny Cash  
> The Man who Sold the World- David Bowie  
> Here comes the Sun- The Beatles


End file.
